The Final Threshold
by Sweet Intoxication13
Summary: The young Christine Dawkins finds her path soon crosses with a mysterious, seductive masked man who has a hold over her - and at the same time she feels an inevitable attraction to another, Raoul Chay. As the curtain descends on her seemingly perfect life, chaos ensues and she is forced to make a decision - one that is nearly impossible to make. Modern day. ExC.
1. Two Paths Crossed

**This is my first story. It is modern day. Please give kind criticism and feedback - I'm looking forward to seeing what you think. **

**WARNING: This story is rated M for language and strong sexual situations. If you feel uncomfortable reading such scenes, I will give warning before they begin, or at the beginning of the chapter. I hope you enjoy chapter one. Thank you.**

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**Chapter 1. Two Paths Crossed**

**(Christine's POV)**

I sat on my porch, tapping my short fingernails against the cool glass of my table, which I was seated before. The gentle wind bristled through my hair, and I looked out at my extensive yard. Tall, lanky trees loomed over my house; the contrast between the dark and light green leaves. Fallen leaves and twigs framed the bottoms of the brown tree trunks, and the emerald grass gleamed with dew the morning brought.

Biting my lip, I crossed out what I had written on my notepad, placed on the table before me. I looked back out on the scene, searching desperately for proper words to describe the yard before me. Sunlight streamed through the trees, forming a golden haze to vibrate about the yard. It was early morning, maybe 8 or 9, and the sun had risen about a half hour prior.

Phrases swirled through my mind, but I could not seem to get the right words – let alone rhymes.

I began frantically writing down whatever came to my mind, trying to make sense of all my thoughts.

_A morning haze clings to the air_

_The risen sun holds fiery flare_

_The emerald grass caressing leaves_

_Fallen gracefully from trees_

I read the stanza over and over in my mind, and I sighed before circling it. It was the best stanza I had written in two days. From the front of the house, I heard a car door slam. I didn't bother going to the front door, because I already knew who would be coming to my house at eight o'clock in the morning.

"Christine!" The voice of my best friend, Meg Giry, rang out into the silence of the morning. She circled around my house, before spotting me from my place on the porch.

"You're up early," She said, sitting next to me.

I nodded, taking my coffee mug in my hand, "I have to write," I said, just before I took a long sip.

"Write what?" Meg asked, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

I didn't reply, I just slid the notepad over to her side of the table.

She read it carefully, and then looked up at me, "A poem?"

"An assignment. My professor said it was mandatory to write a nature scene." I gesture to my yard, "This – I thought – would be the easiest."

"This is why you should have taken photography with me, instead of Music and English/Creative Writing," Meg said with a grin.

I rubbed my temples, "I have a headache."

"How long have you been working on this?"

"Four days."

"And… you have two stanzas?"

I buried my head in my arms, "I'm so going to fail this class."

Meg patted my arm, "Don't worry about it. Just find something that inspires you… obviously staring at this yard until you get a migraine isn't going to work. How about looking at some photos of nature scenes I took?"

"Oh, please no," I said jokingly. Meg was obsessed with taking photos. If I'd allow her to show me one of her pictures, I'd end up seeing them all.

"Okay, okay," Meg laughed, "Why don't you find some song about it?"

"I don't have time to be tracking down songs. This assignment is due tomorrow."

"I think you need more coffee," Meg said, scooping up my mug and making her way toward the screen door leading to my house, "You get grouchy when you're tired."

I followed her, letting her pour more coffee into my mug, before getting a mug for herself.

"Just don't think about it right now," She said, placing the mug before me.

I yawned, but nodded.

There was a moment of silence, before Meg grinned, "You look lovely this morning."

I raised an eyebrow, sensing her sarcasm. I wore a faded out blue hoodie and jeans. My long, dark brown hair was unbrushed and messy. Meg, on the other hand, had straightened her long blonde hair out. Not a hair was out of place, and she wore a white tank top with a cropped pink leather jacket and dark blue skinny jeans. Her nails were expertly done.

"I was up late last night," I defended myself weakly. I was too tired.

"Why were you up late?"

I yawned, "I had performing at this club. Your mom booked something for me."

"You should have told me, I would have come."

I looked up at her, bleary-eyed, "Meg you'd be bored. You've been to every one of my performances since we were eight. I thought I'd give you a break last night. Didn't you have a date, anyway?"

"I ended it."

I didn't react much, I just said simply, "Who was it this week?"

Meg rolled her eyes, "Someone who's not worth it. But that's not the point." Meg nudged me, as she took a seat next to me. "You should come out with me."

"Where?"

Meg sighed exasperatedly, "Where? Out!"

I groaned, "Meg, no…"

"You have been stressed out lately. I know going out is not your thing, but you need to get work off your mind. And what better way then wasting your Saturday morning with your _best friend!" _

I sighed, "I suppose it couldn't hurt. But let me make some breakfast first."

"All right," Meg grinned, " But go change."

I stood, "You'll never let me be, will you?"

"Never." Meg replied solemnly.

**xXx**

Once I was dressed, and my hair was brushed, we made our way into the car. Meg drove, blaring her God-awful music at ear shattering level.

"Must you play this music?" I asked irritably.

Meg groaned, "Don't give me that speech about what 'good music' is. We're almost there."

I rolled my eyes but said nothing.

The two of us decided to go to a café where we had been going since we had discovered it in freshman year of high school. The café was small and cozy, with comfortable couches and chairs scattered out along the dark wooden floor. It was quiet there.

Meg and I found our way inside. Usually it was awfully crowded, but today there were only four or five more people inside, most working furiously on their laptops or notebooks.

We found seats near a window, and Meg asked, "What time is it?"

I checked my phone, "10:23."

"Damn. I have to go to work soon."

"What time?"

"12:00." Meg said.

"Christine," A cashier called my name, reading my name off a cup, with inevitably held my coffee.

I stood and made my way to the front counter and took my cup from the cashier with a quick, "Thank you." I went over to the table with the sugar and milk.

For some strange reason, it felt like someone was staring at me; watching my back. It was a peculiar, foreboding feeling. I turned around, but everyone was paying attention to what they were doing. I turned back around and somebody was right next to me. I gasped, and the person looked up.

"Forgive me if I startled you," He said, closing the lid on his cup.

"N-no, I wasn't paying attention," I stuttered.

The man studied me for a moment, as I gazed back. He was handsome, with jet-black hair. His body was muscular, but his most catching feature was his eyes. A deep murky green, like a dimmed ocean. There was a mysterious gleam in them, and it was as if his true emotions were locked beneath those entrancing eyes.

Realizing I was staring, I looked away, questions bubbling in my mind. He was wearing a white half-mask on the right side of his face… it made his look strange, set apart from everyone else. The side of his face that was visible was terribly handsome, and I strained not to look up at him again.

"Didn't I see you last night?" He asked in his silky, seductive voice.

"Maybe you did," I replied, lifting my eyes up to his eagerly.

He nodded, "I believe I did. You were performing."

"Yes," I said breathlessly. I cleared my throat, "I don't recall seeing you."

"I often hide in the shadows," he smiled, but something in his eyes was lined with pain.

I smiled back; he had a wonderful smile. "And, if you'll allow me, what did you think?"

His face grew serious, "You have an astounding voice. I had hoped you would have sung for longer."

"Thank you," I said, not quite sure how to reply to such sincerity.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle, my name is Erik Dest."

_Mademoiselle? _"I am Christine Dawkins." I said, shaking his hand. I felt a tingle shoot up my arm.

"Are you a music student?"

"Yes."

He smiled contentedly, "Good."

"I assume you've already graduated?"

"A few years ago." He confirmed.

I smiled, nodding and unsure what to say.

Before I could think of anything, he spoke, "Mademoiselle, if you'll forgive me – you're voice is wonderful, however untrained. You have pure, angelic talent, but I feel if I could help you, teach you, you will be able to achieve your full potential."

I felt myself blush, "I… yes, I'd love your help. Th-thank you." I kicked myself for sounding like a fool.

"Great, here is my information you can contact me by," He said, handing me a business card.

I read the card, "You are a music teacher."

"Fully accredited."

I nodded, smiling, "I'll contact you."

"Excellent. Well, I'll let you get back to your friend," He gestured to Meg, "But it was nice running into you." He began turning away, but I quickly spoke.

"Ah… Mr. Dest," He turned back to me and I said, "Would you mind coming over this afternoon sometime? My week later on will be very busy."

He smiled, "Of course."

"Thank you," I said, feeling him cast his bewitching eyes on me. I turned and walked back toward me.

"What was that?" Meg asked, her jaw dropping. Before I had a chance to answer, she cried, "He was so into you! What did he say? What did he hand you? Let me see it!"

"Meg, breathe," I chuckled. "His name is Erik Dest. He's a music teacher and he heard me last night. He wanted to give me lessons."

Meg stared at him, just as he exited the café, "He looks too young to be a teacher."

"He only graduated a few years ago."

"So, he's - what? Thirty, at most. You should go for it!"

I blushed, "Meg, I'm twenty-one. I hardly think he even felt that way, and anyway, it would be inappropriate."

"Which makes it about 100x more fun," Meg grinned, and I hit her playfully on her arm. "Anyway, what was that paper he handed you a minute ago?"

I handed her the folded piece of paper, "His business card. I think he's coming over this afternoon."

"Oh, Christine, I see you blushing. You like him."

"Don't be ridiculous," I snapped, "I don't even know him."

**xXx**

**(Erik's POV)**

I walked from the little café into the crisp morning air. I glanced back warily at the window, where Christine and her blonde friend were sitting by. Christine was looking down at her lap, and Meg was grinning madly. I turned my gaze to the sky, which was beginning to turn grey. I crossed the street and made my way to my car, and began driving to my home.

I kept seeing Christine Dawkins in my mind though. She was remarkable, with her talent and good looks. She had long, brown curls, which had been put up in a ponytail, and she had been wearing a dark turquoise button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. I had seen her blushing multiple times throughout our short conversation.

I could still hear her singing voice, ringing through my mind. I had been enchanting by it, from the moment she had stepped onstage. She had a different air about her than the other performance. She seemed unsure, yet confident. She was a pure little thing. Her voice was so angelic, and her face had paled for anxiousness as she sang.

I had been thrilled when she had accepted my request for teaching her. I knew I could make her a successful, wonderful singer.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, humming a tune from my favorite Opera _Don Giovanni. _I could picture her light brown eyes, staring into my own eyes. They sparkled as she spoke.

When I reached my home, I parked my car and entered. I heard the television on, and I groaned and rubbed my temples. "Nadir!" I called out irritably.

Nadir appeared in the doorway, grinning, "Erik, you're home."

"What's more surprising is you're here – in my home. How did you get in?"

"Oh, Erik, don't be insolent. I've known where you hide your key for years. We grew up together, or have you forgotten?" Nadir took a bite of a green apple he had been holding.

"Unfortunately, I remember clearly," I grumbled.

"C'mon, buddy, don't be irritable today. I just got of my plane, and I'm suffering from jet lag." Nadir said, entering my living room.

I followed him, "How was Persia?"

"All my family was thrilled to see me."

"Wonderful."

He looked up at me, "Aw, Erik, you're still wearing that mask of yours? Why don't you get plastic surgery and end your suffering?" He joked.

I sat down, frustrated, "I'm perfectly satisfied with my face at the present."

"mm hmm," Nadir said sarcastically, while chewing his apple. He swallowed, "You don't need to keep that thing on in front of me. Go on and take it off, must be terribly uncomfortable."

"I've rather gotten used to it, if you haven't guess." I said, removing my mask, revealing the marred half of my face.

Nadir didn't bat an eye, "I like it. Gives you that half-handsome half-I'm-going-to-eat-you look."

I eyed him angrily, but I could not help but smile. Nadir was a fool, but he was a brother to me.

"So, what were you up to this morning?" Nadir took another bite of his half-eaten apple.

"I went to a café to work for a few hours. I ran into a new student."

"Who is it this time?"

"A girl. Her name is Christine."

Nadir lounged back on my couch, "A student?"

"A junior in college, I believe," I answered.

"Mmm. Is she attractive?"

"Does it matter?" I snapped back.

Nadir flashed me a grin, "I forgot your policy. If the girl's pretty, you can't go for her."

"She's beautiful." I said absentmindedly. I don't think I was speaking to Nadir anymore, "A voice of an Angel. I know I could teach her, make her even better than she is now…"

"When is the first lesson?" Nadir asked, interested.

I looked over at him, snapping back to reality, "Today, I believe. This afternoon. She said she'd contact me."

Nadir just grinned and turned back to the television.

I stared out the window, thinking and waiting for the phone to ring.

**Well, there you have it. Chapter one. Not terribly exciting, but it is fairly long, and I decent beginning. The lesson will be in the next chapter(: that is always exciting. Feedback is appreciated. And don't worry, Raoul will be coming in - and he'll cause plenty of trouble!(:**

**.Spencer.**


	2. And As The Storm Sets In

**Here is my chapter 2. I am pleased with this chapter, although I have to apologize for the short chapter. I am thankful for the few reviews I got, though I hope I get many more this chapter! I'd really adore to hear what you think. Thank you.**

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**Chapter Two. And As the Storm Sets In...**

**(Christine's POV)**

I sat, cross-legged on my couch, reading the gothic story of Wuthering Heights. Biting gently as my fingernails, I was enthralled in the gripping story's plot, when the doorbell rang loudly.

Jumping, I stood from my couch and made my way to the door. My eyes met the eyes of Erik Dest, and my breath caught. "Oh," I said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, and looking at my watch. Was that really the time? "Come in," I stepped out of the doorway, letting him enter.

"Thank you," He replied, coming through the entryway and looking about my house, "I hope I am not too early."

"Not at all," I answered, "I just lost track of the time."

He nodded, almost absentmindedly – "you have a lovely home."

"Thank you." I said, closing the door firmly behind him and locking it. I gestured forward, "I have a piano in the living room." The two of us walked toward the largest room in my house. "My roommate is out – her name is Carla. I believe she'll be out until after we've finished the lesson."

Erik – Mr. Dest? – replied, "Excellent." He was already over at my piano, and he began playing a few notes as to check if the piano was in tune.

"I haven't played it in months," I spoke up, "It's been just sitting there, for the most part."

"You play?" Erik looked up at me, still playing the notes of a little melody perfectly as if he had memorized the keyboard.

I snorted, "Hardly. I can read music. I attempted to learn – or rather to teach myself – but I fell out of it, I suppose. I prefer singing." Erik gave me a sideways glance, as if he intended to say something, but he merely looked down and kept tuning the piano. I spoke again, surprising myself at my hunger for a conversation, "My Father was a musician. Violin, mostly, but he was wonderful on the piano."

"Who is your Father?"

I looked down, "Gabriel Daae."

Erik seemed surprised, "He was a wonderful violinist."

I smiled sadly, "He was. I suppose that is where I got my interest in music." I suppose Erik sensed something was wrong, for he ducked his head down, shadowing it – well, more than it already was shadowed. For some indefinable reason, I felt as though I could talk to him. Really talk to him. "He died… when I was a very small child. Seven."

His eyes contained a deep sorrow, "I am sorry. What of your mother?"

My eyes lowered, "She is dead, as well. She died when I was a baby."

There was another string of silence, before Erik began playing a few notes again. Soon, he looked up at me, "It's tuned."

I made my way over to the piano, "What do you want to start with?"

"Vocal warm-ups." He said nonchalantly, not meeting my gaze. For the next ten minutes or so, he played tune on the piano, which I accompanied by singing variations of "ah" and "la".

"Very good," He said, removing his hands from the keys. He walked over to me, so that we were inches apart. "You're singing is very good, but you're not using your stomach properly." I gasped silently, as he's strong hand pressed flatly against my diaphragm. "I want you to press on this area here, when you're singing. When you sing, you should feel it go in and out as you take breaths. Sing one of the warm-ups."

I began singing, feeling my voice shake at the feel of his warm hand against my body. His eyes were forever on mine, making me stutter every few lines. His fingertips curled a little, making me suck in a hard breath.

His hand tensed, but he pulled away quickly, "Just like that. Excellent job. If you just use your diaphragm like that more, you'll feel yourself become strong with both your lower and higher range."

"Th-thank you," I stumbled over my words, cursing myself silently.

"I think we should begin a song. Do you have any favorite shows? Or a specific song in mind?"

My mind wandered to the songs I stayed up at all hours writing. But I decided against sharing those with him. They were far too personal. "Whatever you'd like to begin with is perfectly all right with me," I said hesitantly.

He turned his back to me, and I could not tell what he was doing but I could see his hand placed on the right side of his face. He turned back around; the mask was straighter now. The white of the mask seemed to melt into his face, almost as though it belonged there. His silky voice cut into my thoughts, "Do you know any musicals you like? I'm more of a fan for traditional music, myself."

"As am I," I said, "perhaps a duet to begin with?..."

He seemed to be considering the idea, but shook his head, "We will work up to that. For now, I would like to listen to you sing on your own."

I nodded, crestfallen. "Of course. Whatever you want."

He smoothed out a book, I did not know he had. It was a large book, full of songs. He flipped through the pages, looking for something. "How about…" he said, dragging out his words as though he were thinking. When he seemed to find a page, he smooth it and put it on the piano, so he could read it. "'I Dreamed A Dream'," He suggested flatly, so that it didn't sound like he was asking me at all.

"That'd be perfect…" I said warily.

He began playing the soft, mournful melody, as I waited for my time to begin singing.

I drew a breath, and began in a slow, emotion-filled voice.

"_There was a time, when men were kind_

_When their voices were soft, and their words inviting_

_There was a time when love was blind, and the world was a song_

_And the song was exciting_

_There was a time_

_That it all went, wrong…"_

His eyes remained on the piano keys, but I could feel something in his presence alter. Something softened. And as I sang, staring at him, I could not help but wonder what my own feelings were.

**xXx**

**(Erik's POV)**

Her voice was brilliant. It echoed rapturously through my mind, as she sang. I could feel her eyes on me, but I did not dare look up. I kept my eyes on the piano keys, listening alertly to her singing.

"_I dreamed a dream in time gone by_

_When hope was high and life worth living_

_I dreamed that love, would never die_

_I dreamed that God would be forgiving_

_Then I was young and unafraid_

_And dreams were made, and used, and waste_

_There was no ransom to be paid_

_No song unsung, no wine untasted…"_

I bit my lip, straining not to meet her eyes. Something had rushed through me, when I had placed my hand on her. I had heard her quiet gasp before she settled into my touch. I had wanted to stay there, inches apart from her, but I knew my place. I was only there to teach her to sing, nothing more or less.

"_But the tigers come at night_

_With their voices soft as thunder_

_As they tear your hope apart_

_As they turn your dreams to shame!"_

Her voice rose, ringing off of the white walls of the large room. I could feel my heart, beating unrestrainedly in my chest, as I fought the urge to look up at her. I had only met her a few hours prior – was I insolent to be fighting myself now, as I did? I questioned, repulsed by myself.

"_He slept a summer, by my side_

_He filled my days with endless wonder_

_He took my childhood, in his stride_

_But he was gone, when autumn came…"_

I heard her take a good, deep breath. I played the keys, pressing harder on them to make them louder, accompanying her voice, with was rising higher by the moment.

"_And still I dream he'll come to me_

_That we will live the years together_

_But there are dreams that cannot be!_

_And there are storms we cannot weather!"_

Tears rimmed her eyes, I could hear it in her voice. Perhaps she was crying. I did not want to see. However, her voice grew more and more beautiful by the second.

"_I had a dream my life would be!_

_So different from this Hell I'm living – so different now, from what it seemed!_

_Now life has killed the dream_

_I dreamed…"_

I played the last few notes, slowly ending the song. I lifted my eyes to meet hers, and she was staring back at me. Tears lined her eyes, but she smiled widely, "That was wonderful," she said joyfully.

"You sounded beautiful," I agreed softly. I took the music book from the piano and gestured toward the couch, "May we sit?"

She looked behind her, "Oh, of course."

The two of us sat down on the couch. "Do you have a pencil I can use?" I inquired, and Christine nodded and got a pencil from the side table. She handed it to me.

"You're singing is wonderful, but you're holding this note out too long." I said, circling the note, "it is a quarter note, but you are holding it as if it is a half-note."

I felt her chin brush my shoulder lightly. She looked over at the page, observing carefully.

"And this note… you see," I turned to meet her eyes, to see that her face was an inch from mine. My voice trailed off, as a swirl over emotions overcame me. I felt her breath against me, and I could smell her sweet essence – vanilla and mint leaves.

Breathlessly, she moved a centimeter closer to me, whispering, "Teach me more…"

I bit my lip, anxiously watching her lips. An inch closer. My breathing hitched.

Just as her lips were about she brush mine, I heard the loud noise of a door slam, and a shrill shriek, "CHRISTINE!"

Christine pulled away from me immediately, pulling her button-down shirt further down on her hips, "Carla? Is that you?"

A huge crash of thunder sounded in the distance, and I only then looked out the window to realize how dark grey the sky had gotten. The window was rain-spattered. I met Christine's eyes, and her voice was low as she said, "There's a storm coming."

"Looks as though it's here," I mumbled.

A woman appeared in the doorway. She was a bit taller than Christine, and had fiery red hair. Her eyes were brown, similar to Christine's, but they were colder and sharper. Her eyes fell on me, "Who is this?"

Christine cleared her throat, and shifted uncomfortably, "This is Erik Dest. He is my voice teacher."

The woman, Carla, snorted rudely, "Lord knows you need lessons," Her tone changed when she looked at me, "A pleasure to meet you, Erik."

I restrained my lip from curling up in disgust, "The pleasure is mine, I'm sure," I answered.

She giggled gaudily.

"I believe it was time for you to go, wasn't it, Erik?" Christine said irritably, standing from the couch.

I stood as well, "Yes. Good lesson, Christine. You may call me whenever you want to have your next one. I will probably be available."

"Thank you," Christine responded, smiling briefly. "You were a great help."

Thunder roared, and lightning flashed. Outside, the branches of the trees swirled and twisted.

"We'd hate to make you go out in that God-awful weather," Carla said in what I supposed was her sweetest voice, "stay here a bit longer, Mr. Dest."

Christine's face paled, but she nodded, "Of course, Erik, you should stay."

I looked between the two women, "Please, I do not want to impose."

"We insist," Carla grinned crookedly.

I hesitated. Christine looked as though she were going to be ill. I could not help but recall that rush of excitement and anticipation when we had been inches apart. When I had held her close to me. Would it be too forward of me to accept? I cursed myself for having any feelings – whatever they may be – for a student. She was a girl, at least seven years my minor. I saw a flicker of hope pass Christine's eyes, just as I said, "All right."

A few moments later, I was seated next to Christine on the couch once more. Carla was opposite me. Christine was reading a book – Wuthering Heights, I believed – and Carla was rambling about, something. Christine bit her lip lightly, clearly enthralled in the gothic story. She moved a strand of her hair from her face absentmindedly, and I watched her with fascination.

Christine was a beautiful woman. She was smart and talented. Something in her, a spark, entranced me. And still I had only met her hours before. I knew I was foolish for having any sort of attraction to her. What that attraction was, I was not so sure. For the next few hours, I was not sure of anything.

But the only thing I was certain of, was that the storm was not over yet.

It had not yet begun.

**Slight cliffhanger? If only Carla hadn't burst in! You'll get the backstory of how Christine and Carla got to being roommates. Obviously, they would not choose to live together lol. Feedback would be lovely.**

**.Spencer.**


	3. Opportunites

**I apologize both for my brief absence, and for the short chapter. I believe this chapter is the shortest of the three, at 2,000 words exactly (not including my author's note haha). A fair amount of people have been reading this. This month adds up to a total of 97. Each one of you is appreciated! And would be even more so, if you would be so kind as to give me feedback(:. Thank you to those of you who have reviewed, I hope you continue to do so! I like this chapter a lot, but Raoul comes in! There will be more of him in the next chapter. Enough of my ranting, now. Without further ado, I give you...**

**Chapter 3. Opportunities**

**(Erik's POV)**

The sky was a dimmed grey, streets lights vaguely shining as blurred bulbs in the distance, effusing into the dark sky. The wind blew through the dark green leaves, making the trees and branches flap about wildly. The wind chimes in the front lawn of the house opposite Christine's began twirling madly into orbit, driven by the pressure of the cold evening's breeze.

Raindrops spattered onto the windows, blurring the world beyond the glass. Lightning flashed, the jagged purple splitting the dark grey sky in two for a moment. From inside, I could hear the terrible howl of the wind.

I felt someone's shoulder brush against mine, peering out the window next to me. I glanced out and saw from the corner of my eye Christine, clasping her trembling hands together. She kept her eyes forward, as if to not acknowledge me; but I could see her blushing, coloring her ivory cheeks with a rosy color.

I tried to turn my face forward as well, to avert my gaze toward the window, but I found myself glancing back at her through the corner of my eye every few seconds. She was inches away from me, her shoulder gently brushing against mine. Even though we were hardly touching, I could feel heat radiating from her to me.

"It shows no signs of stopping," She said grimly, her eyes still unmoving from the storm.

I drew a breath, "Yes."

"It…" She paused, as if to think through whether or not to finish her sentence, though her face remained expressionless. In a grave whisper, she said, "It was like this the night of my father's death." Thunder roared in the sky, echoing her words. I saw a faint flicker of sadness in her eyes, and she bit gently at her bottom lip.

I turned most of my body toward her, and for the first time she moved her soft brown eyes to mine. Reflection of the dim light outdoors shone on her porcelain skin. I read the confliction in her eyes, as she studied mine in return. A gaze held between us for a long time, before I spoke, "I am sorry," I said, snapping both her and myself back into reality, "I should not have agreed to stay here."

"And why do you say that?" She insisted hesitantly, "It is our pleasure to have you here – "

"Earlier." I interrupted, my voice stronger and sterner than I had wanted it to be, "What we almost did… It was inappropriate. It was wrong. I fear that by my staying here I have only made matters worse."

Christine looked down at the black, flat shoes she wore, "I see what you mean. But, was that not a moment of thoughtless passion? We have found someone with whom to connect with over our love of music, nothing more. As you said, earlier was a mistake. But that was all it was."

Even though she was agreeing with me, her coldness on the subject struck me someone deep within my chest. I nodded feebly and said, "Our relationship should be nothing but professional. I am your music teacher, nothing more."

She bit her bottom lip again, harder this time. Her eyes fond mine, and though she mumbled the word "yes", the secret locked behind her eyes told me something quite different.

"Mr. Dest," Carla called from the kitchen. In her hand she held a cream colored 1950's styled phone. The sort without a screen, where all the buttons where shaped in a circle around a miniature platform. She held it outward toward me over the kitchen counter, "The call is for you."

I walked away from Christine's side, and I felt her eyes on my back as I made my way to the kitchen. I cursed myself silently. Despite our words, something had happened. _Something…_

"Hello?" I said tersely into the phone.

"Erik!" The accented voice of Nadir rang out cheerfully, "I thought you'd be there. I thought you're lesson ended hours ago. Why're you still there?"

I glanced at Christine, then cursed myself for doing so. Over the opposite side of the counter, Carla stared at me, her chin resting in the palm of her left hand. "The storm," I muttered, "The weather's too ghastly for me to drive. I wouldn't be able to see the road, let alone drive through those windy hills to my home."

"I see," Nadir said thoughtfully. "Well, the weather report said the storm should be over at least until 12:00 tomorrow afternoon. Looks like you'll be spending the night over there." He was grinning. I could hear it in his voice. Damn Nadir.

At his words, I found myself staring at Christine's back. She had turned back to the window. "I suppose we'll just have to see when the storm lets up," I replied coolly, as if I did not catch on to his insinuations.

"Riiight." Nadir laughed.

I scowled, "Is that all you wanted, Nadir?"

"Yep. Well, I'll be seeing you, then, Erik. Have a _good night."_

I slammed the receiver down, hoping that Nadir's half of the conversation had gone unheard.

At that moment, symphony music began blaring through the house. Christine pivoted around and ran to the couch, lifting her purple-cased phone from one of the cushions. "Hello?" She asked, the symphony music stopping abruptly. There was a pause, "…Who is this?... well, yes… Last night?, you saw me?... yes… yes, thank you… Really?... Did you speak to him?... Oh, yes, sir, I'd be honored!... Thank you… yes, this number is fine… I'll see you tomorrow then… Goodbye." She pressed the end button, then looked up with a joyful look in her eye.

"Who was it?" Carla asked uncaringly.

"He said his name was Raoul Chay…"

I frowned, "Chay? As in, Marcus Chay?"

"Yes! Raoul is his son," Christine cried. Marcus Chay was a local talent scout, who owned more than half of the city. He funded the Opera, and was often looking for new, young talent. "He said that he heard me singing last night, just as you did, Erik, and he and his father wanted to meet me tomorrow afternoon!"

"That's wonderful." I said half-heartedly.

**(Christine's POV)**

The time on my digital wrist watch read 10:55 PM. The sky beyond the rain-spattered window was black. The rain beat down relentlessly, every now and then thunder would boom and lighting would tear up the sky. The wind was clearly audible, even from inside. And yet, the ghastly weather didn't bother me one bit at the moment.

Because I was staring at Erik.

I was seated a few feet away from him on the soft couch in my living room, Carla far too close to him on his other side. We watched some old black-and-white movie, and normally I would have been interested. But not tonight.

Fascination sparked in Erik's eyes like diamonds in the rough. Stars reflected in the deep sea of his eyes. We had spoken little that night, except for a few exchanged casualties at the dinner table and our conversation over by the window. And what a conversation that had been.

We had both been hiding behind our words, I could tell in his eyes. I had tried my best to sound cold and diplomatic about the events of earlier that day, but I knew I had not succeeded. I longed to speak with him again, but still I wasn't quite sure why. It was as though my attraction to him was that strong. I suppose it was more that I could understand him, as well as he understood me.

I felt as though I could talk to him. As if behind his harsh exterior, something warm and wonderful lay inside his heart. He was a dark, tortured man. I could read it in him. And the mask he wore still perplexed me.

It rested on his face, its very presence tempting me to pull it off. I wondered what lay beneath it. What horrors could he be hiding? What secrets did he have? Questions burned within me, scorching my mind. God, I was going to be driven insane by this man. He was dark, cold, and yet he was sweet and compassionate. A genius in his work. He was handsome and terribly attractive; confusing.

Time seemed to have passed so quickly, that when the movie ended I looked at my watch and saw the time read 11:47 PM. Carla stood from the couch, yawning, "I'm going up to bed." She said between yawns, already half-way up the stairs.

"Goodnight," I called to her, and in response she groaned at me. I smiled despite myself, laughing a little bit at her hatred towards me.

I did not realize until after I had heard Carla's bedroom door shut, and I checked my watch again that Erik was staring at me. My eyes lifted to his, and something held between us. It was more than just a gaze. It was…

At that moment, the lights overheard flickered, and went out, leaving the room in pitch blackness. I gasped at the sudden darkness cloaking of us, and I heard Erik's sharp reply, "It's okay." I felt his strong, warm hand touched my upper arm, and I felt my body relax. He was inches apart from me now, and even in the darkness I could almost see his eyes.

"It's just a power outage, the lights will probably be back on soon." He assured me, and I nodded. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes," I responded breathlessly. "I-I think I will just go to bed."

"Do you think you can find your way up the stairs?" Erik asked, concern lining his voice.

I thought for a moment, "No," I admitted. Odds were that I would trip. I couldn't see a thing.

"Maybe you should just stay down here for tonight. Sleep on the couch. I'll stay on the floor." He offered in a deep, seductive voice.

I bit my lip. I couldn't make him sleep on the floor. But the couch was surely not big enough for two, unless I were to lay on top of him. I shuddered at the thought. Though, perhaps it was not a shudder of disgust. Perhaps it was… "You are my guest," I heard myself saying, "I could not make you sleep on the floor."

"I will be fine. There are two or three blankets folded here," he reached over to the end of the couch, feeling around for the blankets. When he found them, he leaned back toward me. "I will be fine."

The next words I said instantly. I did not think, nor breathe while saying them. "If you will sleep on the floor, then I will too. It is unfair to give me the couch."

I could not see him. But in my mind I could see his eyes, glinting with that fascinating, sensual spark. "If you insist."

Blindly, the two of us set the blankets out on the floor, making sure the blankets were set apart by a few feet. I took a squared cushion of the couch for myself, and handed one to Erik. When he reached for it, his hand brushed against mine.

Electricity shot up my arm, and my breathing slowed instantly. He didn't not move his hand, and I did not move mine. Slowly, blindly, I leaned toward him in a breathless moment, to find he had done the same. Our lips met for a moment, but just one moment was enough. I pulled away from him slowly, my eyes opening.

Wordlessly, he took the pillow from my hand and lay down. I did that same. I rolled over so that my back was toward him, but even in the dark I felt his eyes on me. I pulled the blanket over my face, cursing myself for kissing him. Because not only had I kissed him, but I enjoyed it.

But it could never happen again.


End file.
